Human History Is The Sad Result Of

Of All Our Feelings The Only One Which Really Doesn't Belong To Us Is Hope. Hope Belongs To Life, It's Life Itself Defending Itself. Etcetera.

The More A Book Is Like An Opium Pipe, The More The Chinaman Reader Is Satisfied With It And Tends To Discuss The Quality Of The Drug Rather Than Its Lethargic Effects.

Human History Is The Sad Result Of Each One Looking Out For Himself.

When One Wants To Write, One Writes. If One Is Condemned To Write, One Writes.

Salt And The Center Of The World Have To Be There, In That Spot On The Tablecloth.